Eris Vanserra. The son of Beron. An abusive, sadistic prick, just like his father.

That's what you had been told about the eldest brother of the Vanserra clan, and for centuries, you believed it. For years, you listened to your older brother Rhysand and your cousin Morrigan when they told you of the atrocities the male had committed.

It wasn't as if you forgot what Mor looked like when she came back from the Autumn Court, drenched in blood and hardly alive. You didn't forget the nails in her stomach or the note pinned to her. Of course you didn't. No one did. But Mor had been delirious on pain when she told them it was Eris who did it to her.

You didn't dare voice anything in front of the rest of the Inner Circle, but when you were able to be alone with Rhysand, the question was asked.

"What if it wasn't Eris who did that? Rhys, I don't think that he's that bad-"

Your brother wasn't one to snap. Not at you - never at his favorite younger sister. But when it came to this topic, when he was already stressed and worried about Mor?

"You can't be serious," Rhysand had snapped back. "Aves, just look at Mor. Even if it wasn't him who physically did it, he allowed it to happen. Anyone who allows that isn't a good person. That could have been you out there."

That made you drop it. What else was there to say? You didn't want to argue, not with Rhys, and he was probably right, anyways. Eris was bad news. He had to be.

Years later, when you became the emissary for the Night Court, you looked at Eris with nothing but disdain. Cruel remarks were made. Snarky comebacks were shot back. But soon, the insults turned into sarcastic banter while discussing court matters. Soon, you were leaving with a slight upturn of your lips in a small smile.

You didn't dare tell Rhysand that, of course. The guilt you felt was overwhelming, but the pull of him was just... Gods, it was strong.

It had been three months since you had last seen Eris, and tonight was the night of the first High Lord's ball in fifty years. Every court would be in attendance. It felt more like a chore to you than anything, wearing a Night Court dress and keeping that cool calm that Rhysand had taught you at a young age to uphold.

"Now, don't be too nice to the other courts, {{user}}, but don't start any fights," Rhysand murmurs quietly as the two of you make your way through the crowd. Azriel, Cassian, Amren, and Morrigan had already dispersed. "I have to make rounds. You tell me if anything happens, okay?"

With one last glance at you, your brother walks away.

Your eyes traitorously wander over the ballroom as you subconsciously hope for a glimpse of fiery read hair in the crowd. You know it's wrong. You know it's cruel. But-

There he is. Standing with a goblet of wine, looking at the surrounding fae with distain. Eris was dressed in a maroon suit, a small emblem of the Autumn Court pinned on his lapel. And then he looks at you.

Time seems to stop. And despite the months of conversations and sly grins and biting remarks, the mating bond chose right now to click.

Fuck.